


my lover's the sunlight

by eggutart



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Highschool AU, M/M, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-06 12:30:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15194840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggutart/pseuds/eggutart
Summary: charlie hasn’t read and annotated the bible himself, but he knows that mark 12:31 says love thy neighbor as thyself. they aren’t quite neighbors - mac lives four doors from charlie - but charlie, if he believes in anything, believes that this is true.





	my lover's the sunlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jim_morrisenpai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jim_morrisenpai/gifts).



> this one's for user jim_morrisenpai who has supported me from the beginning!! i know ur reading this & i felt like i needed to repay u someway. thank u again ur the super duper best dude!!

Charlie doesn’t believe in God. 

He doesn’t think the name should be capitalized, and he certainly doesn’t think he’s worth stealing Mac’s Sundays away. And what Charlie hates the most is the oh-so enlightened idea that his life is  _ not _ his own but in fact the man upstairs’. Charlie doesn’t like the theory that he’s being puppeteered by some loser with a beard. Plus there’s science to back Charlie’s atheism up. He doesn’t care about science any other time, but he figures it comes in handy when arguing about God with Mac.

“We have  _ brains _ , dumbass,” Charlie says, snubbing his cigarette out on the cement of the steps behind the school. “We think and act for ourselves.”

Mac takes an especially drawn out drag from his cancer stick and Charlie knows he’s imagining himself as one of those God fearing cowboys in the Westerns he loves so bad. “But where did the brains  _ come from _ , Charlie,” he says, like he’s just postulated something absolutely brilliant. Charlie frowns. 

“I guess only some of us have brains.” 

Mac punches him in the arm, and it kind of hurts this time. Maybe he’s been thinking so hard about karate that he’s doing it in his sleep or something. The physical act of karate classes is way past him, though.

“Whatever dude,” Mac says, leaning back on his elbows and letting his eyes flutter closed. “God made me cool and you stupid, and that’s what matters.” 

Charlie doesn’t really want to protest, because first, he’s too tired, and second, this has been Mac’s argument for years. He feels it’s kind of pointless to keep retaliating. He’d rather waste his breath on better things like cigarettes and kissing Mac. 

Which is something else God’s got a qualm over. And deep down, Charlie knows that he’s probably being insensitive and that Mac struggles with this, but he doesn’t know why Mac can’t just  _ quit _ this religion that condemns the kiss Mac gives Charlie before he walks home and the way Charlie’s fingers feel most comfortable curled around Mac’s. It’s bullshit. It really is. 

Charlie hasn’t read and annotated the Bible himself, but he knows that Mark 12:31 says love thy neighbor as thyself. They aren’t quite neighbors - Mac lives four doors from Charlie - but Charlie, if he believes in anything, believes that this is true. 

It’s different for him, though. 

Charlie can count on one hand the amount of times he’s stepped foot in a church. 

Mac’s, well,  _ religious _ about it. His room is bare save for the cross above his bed and the rosary decorating his bedside table. It makes Charlie cringe. He wonders how many times he has begged on his knees for God not to make him queer, questioning His great plan if Mac turned out this way. Charlie wishes Mac believes him when he tells him that if God doesn’t make mistakes, it’s right for Mac to be gay. 

For Mac to love Charlie. 

Charlie also knows religion like this doesn’t fade overnight. He can’t tell Mac that God loves him and everything will be fine. For Mac, this is personal. This is internal and this is something he has to conquer on his own, because Charlie knows, and Mac does too, even if he won’t admit it, that this is more than disappointing Sunday school. It’s in himself. It’s always been himself. 

 

“Mac,” Charlie breathes in between kisses. Mac scowls at him, pressing his forearms into the mattress to push his body away from Charlie’s. 

“How do you feel?” Charlie says, tentatively. Mac ignores him and moves to press his lips to the corner of Charlie’s mouth, but he doesn’t let him. “Stop. Mac. Answer me.”

“I feel,” Mac says, tilting his head and studying Charlie’s freckles. “Like I want to kiss you.” 

Charlie gives in for a moment, as if rewarding Mac for letting him through at least one layer of his psyche. 

“I mean,” Charlie begins again, and Mac rolls off Charlie and into the space in the bed next to him. “Does this feel wrong? Like you’re-” Charlie tries to find the right word. Disappointed? Guilty? 

Mac finishes for him. “Ashamed? No.” He answers without skipping a beat. Charlie can’t tell if he’s lying, building a facade around the only person he’d ever opened up to. He hopes he isn’t. For Mac’s sake over his. 

“Really,” Mac says, and Charlie wants to believe that he’s being honest. The way Mac’s thumb smoothes Charlie’s cheek makes the story more convincing. Mac kisses him, soft, and they stay like this for a moment; gently holding each other, noses centimeters apart.  _ If he’s not ashamed _ , Charlie thinks,  _ he would tell someone else _ . 

“Hey,” Charlie says, the sudden thought prompting words before his mouth was informed. “Take me to church with you this Sunday.” Mac looks surprised, startled even. He agrees, albeit warily, and Charlie notices that he swallows hard, too.

 

Sunday comes fast for Charlie and unbearably slowly for Mac. He is dreading this - has been the whole week. 

Charlie shows up at his doorstep in what’s enough of a Sunday best. For him, that is. His tie is crooked and his hair isn’t quite laying flat like Mac’s, though Mac knows Charlie probably did make a five minute effort to help it. 

“You look nice,” Mac murmurs, fingers flitting to his tie and his partially starched collar to straighten them a little. It feels kind of ironic.

Charlie leans into Mac’s touch, but Mac won’t meet his eyes. 

 

They walk to the church on 3rd and Gerritt alone, because Mac’s mom slept in and neither of them are brave enough to wake her up. It’s not far, but the five minute walk turns into ten because Charlie wants to go in the deli and buy a Crystal Pepsi and gets distracted by the stray cats in the alleyway. Mac helps Charlie pay for his soda in nickels and two low-calorie sugar packets he had tucked into his jacket pocket. There’s a grape jelly from the diner in there, too, but Mac wants to keep that for himself.

Mac tells him cats aren’t allowed in church, which Charlie makes a fuss over, but he leaves them alone. 

“I’ll come back for you,” Charlie half-whispers, and Mac grabs him by the arm and drags him away from blowing kisses at the calico.

 

The church is as cold and pretentious as Charlie imagines. He shivers, wishing he’d brought a jacket or something. He’d ask Mac for his, but he doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable or for God to come down and lightning bolt the gay out of them or whatever he does. 

Charlie doesn’t really know how to  _ do _ this, but Mac is acting like Charlie’s barely even there. He quiets him when Charlie tries to crack a joke, and Charlie resigns to trying to actually participate. Mac is unlike Charlie’s ever seen him.

He isn’t laughing, or even trying not to, and his jaw is set sternly. He looks grown-up, Charlie thinks, and he immediately feels self conscious in his ill-fitting pants and mismatched socks. They didn’t look that off this morning, but now, in the light, it’s clear that one is more cream than white. 

Charlie tries to relax against the wooden pew digging into his shoulder blades and listen to what the priest is saying. He seems like a nice enough guy, though he keeps coughing every third word and it’s setting the whole rhythm off. Charlie thinks of something halfway through the service, and he pats his pocket as nonchalantly as possible to check that he’s got a few more dollars. 

 

“I’m going to talk to the priest, okay?” Charlie tells Mac after, and Mac’s eyes widen. 

“Wow,” he laughs, winking at Charlie. “You really got enlightened, huh?”

Charlie rolls his eyes. “I did not.”

 

The priest is shaking hands and kissing babies when Charlie walks up to him, and he thinks he looks more like a politician than a Catholic.

“Hello, sir,” Charlie says, immediately cringing at his own words. He’s not sure how to address him, but it’s probably not like that.

“Are you a good Catholic boy?” The priest says, and Charlie shrinks away from the hand trying to land on his shoulder. 

“Um, sure,” Charlie says, because he knows if he says no he’ll be lectured for another hour. “But I just had to ask a, uh, favor,” he continues, mentally cursing himself for thinking this would work. 

The priest nods. Charlie tells him his plan; asking him to visit Mac in the confessional and tell him that being gay was alright. The priest looks taken aback for a moment, but his face softens into a knowing smile. He says he can’t  _ do _ that. Charlie asks  _ why _ , and he says he just can’t. Charlie wants to call bullshit, but he’s getting too frustrated, so he decides to do this himself. 

Charlie thinks he’s pretty okay at impressions, and Mac’s the most gullible person on the planet, so his revised plan will work. Should. Most likely. Yeah. Charlie knows Mac, and he knows he will go to the wooden box of  _ dumb _ , also known as confessional. Charlie doesn’t get it. How can a serial killer suddenly get into heaven just because he admitted it to a guy in a clerical collar? Sounds like a loophole to Charlie.

 

So he slips into the priest’s side and waits. Soon enough, Mac sits on the other side, saying a few words before waiting for who he thinks is the priest to speak.

Charlie clears his throat. “Mac,” he says, voice so low it even surprises himself. “You’re a good boy. God loves you, you know that right?”

Mac pauses for a moment, and Charlie can hear his heart beating. He hopes he can’t make out Charlie’s voice. “Yeah,” Mac says, but he can tell he doesn’t believe it.

“You are kind, handsome, and totally awesome. We at the church see you doing karate in the alley and we know you can definitely do a super sick backflip. You care so much for your family and friends and you should know that God sees this. And he hears your prayers at night to not be gay. God wants you to know that it’s okay that you are. More than okay. He knows nobody’s probably told you this, but it’s true. Being gay doesn’t detract from who you are. It makes you Mac. And I,” Charlie corrects himself quickly, “ _ we _ love you.”

He thinks he can hear Mac’s breath catch, and he wonders if he’s crying. 

“Always,” Charlie says, forgetting to lower his pitch.  _ God damnit.  _ He blew his own cover. Now Mac’s gonna know. 

“Thanks, Charlie,” Mac says, and his voice is small. 

“Um, no, good boy, it’s me, your pastor, uh priest, you know,” Charlie stammers, trying to make his voice sound simultaneously lower and higher. The pitch is all wrong, and he probably just sounds like an idiot. 

He can hear Mac laugh softly through the carved wood and his heart settles. 

“You’re welcome,” Charlie says finally, glancing at Mac through the little window. Mac is facing forward, but he’s smiling, too, and Charlie makes a point not to mention this to him ever. Not the monologue of things Charlie - sorry not sorry, God - loves about Mac and not the smile and not the reflection of the tear staining Mac’s cheek. 

 

On the way home, they stop to pet the cats. Mac kneels next to Charlie and they name the calico Pebble, because he looks like one, and the grey one Apple, because Charlie thinks it fits. 

“My mom would kill me if I took them home,” Charlie says quietly. Mac sits in a thoughtful silence. 

“We could take them to the church,” Mac supplies, and Charlie turns to him with the entire universe in his eyes. 

They find a cardboard box and some newspapers in the alley and construct a makeshift home for the cats. They nestle it in the unused janitor’s closet by the back door, so either Charlie or Mac could sneak in and out quickly, just to feed Pebble and Apple and give them water. They decide that this joint responsibility was good. Charlie starts going to church with Mac on Sundays for real and to visit Pebble and Apple, of course. 

The priest probably knows about two middle-sized cats living in his church, but if he does he doesn’t mind. Charlie decides that church isn’t all bad. And that actually, he kind of likes going. It’s more solidarity, he thinks, than faith. Maybe that’s what it’s really for, anyway. Charlie likes to think it is, because he feels  _ nice _ beside Mac, knowing their cats were okay, too, and he doesn’t mind the priest’s coughs. Maybe he and Mac will buy him some cough drops for Christmas, or something.

 

Charlie doesn’t believe in God. 

He doesn’t understand why he means so much to Mac, and he still thinks capitalizing the ‘G’ doesn’t make him special-er, but maybe he’s worth occupying most Sundays if Mac is okay with loving Charlie. 

If he’s okay with loving himself.

So Charlie doesn’t really have any science to worry about anymore. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> the title is from hozier's take me to church.
> 
> buy me a coffee here: https://ko-fi.com/D1D76TM3


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